


Describe Your Day

by elliot_cant_write



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: F/M, M/M, also it's based on a dave malloy musical wow what a suprise, this is the more depressing counterpart to to strengthen ones hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 10:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliot_cant_write/pseuds/elliot_cant_write
Summary: James had always had places he wanted to go. He’s casually mention while flipping through a book that he had wanted to see, say, the Pantheon, and Oliver would accidentally file that information away. There was a lot of stuff like that, things Oliver hadn’t realised he’d memorised until he spent ten years with nothing better to do.





	Describe Your Day

Oliver’s day began with sunlight streaming in his eyes because he hadn’t bothered to close the curtains the evening before. It was eight o’clock. AM, this time. 

Oliver’s day continued with cereal. He liked cereal. James had always liked toast, and it was not weird that Oliver knew that. He also knew that Meredith liked fruit for breakfast. Of course, he lived with Meredith and every now and again sat across from her. She ate her orange. He ate his cereal. Sometimes they’d talk about something, like the book he was supposedly writing or the play she was supposedly auditioning for. Not this day though. This day she had gone out to see her brother. So Oliver was alone. It was 9 o’clock. 

At ten, he read a book. War and Peace. Tolstoy. Mind numbing, in the same way it was all consuming. It was surprisingly easy to lose oneself in the selfish, dull problems of rich nineteenth century Russians, woven between Tolstoy’s ramblings about God-knows-what. So much so that by the time he looked up from Natasha ruining her own life, it was almost eleven. 

At almost-eleven, Oliver decided it was time to get dressed. So he did that. He got dressed, and very carefully did not look at the letter that was still pinned to his wall next to his desk. It was not that time yet.

At noon, Meredith came home. She had brought a sandwich, two sandwitches, one for each of them. Meredith asked him what he had done that day, and Oliver just shrugged. It had been primarily a waste. He had things to get done later. Oliver asked what Meredith had done that day. She shrugged. They were both somewhat miserable. But it was fine.

At quarter until one, Oliver fell into his usual routine of seeing if a body had been found yet. He checked everything he could get into, police reports, newspaper articles, everywhere. There was never any reports. That went on for awhile, almost until two o’clock. Then, he switched gears. 

James had always had places he wanted to go. He’s casually mention while flipping through a book that he had wanted to see, say, the Pantheon, and Oliver would accidentally file that information away. There was a lot of stuff like that, things Oliver hadn’t realised he’d memorised until he spent ten years with nothing better to do. 

Anyway, James had wanted to go to Rome, Naples, Verona, a whole ton of Italian cities. Then your average sightseeing places in the UK, and New York. Apparently, James had never been to New York. Oh, and Liechtenstein. And Germany. And Iceland. The last, probably because Wren went once over break and liked it so much. 

So Oliver kept track of all these places, looking for anything mentioning Shakespeare. Of course, that was hardly full proof. Oliver did not doubt that James was doing something Shakespeare related, but the question was how deep he would go in. Oliver could easily find a cast list, but it was harder to find the person selling tickets on a corner in Torino. 

That was actually the worst part. That he could be looking at the faces of people who saw James every single day and have no idea.

The researching took awhile (he had pages bookmarked, but he still needed to check for new ones. That lasted three hours or so, until around five o’clock. That was when he and Meredith made dinner together. 

It was Oliver’s turn to choose, so they made grilled cheese. Because he was tired, and also grilled cheese was amazing.

That (plus sitting at a table awkwardly making conversation) took away another hour, making it six o’clock. That was when Oliver finally went to the chest, and carefully removed the paper inside.

Oliver read the letter, one, two, three times, until Meredith came over and took it away. She carefully put in back in the box, before taking Oliver’s hand and asking if he wanted to watch a movie. The movie was stupid, and Oliver was pretty sure that Meredith was using it as an excuse to press her shoulder right up against his and pretend that things were fine and that James wasn’t still ruining their relationship, so many years later. That all lasted until half past nine. 

Meredith reached up, running her fingers through Oliver’s hair where he had been letting it grow out. She asked if he wanted to watch another movie. He said he’d rather go to bed. 

At ten o’clock, Oliver Marks went to sleep, not bothering to close the curtains or say goodnight to Meredith. And the next morning, he would start over.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this rather than finishing the other two things I'm supposed to be working on. I think it's okay.  
> Notes.  
> 1\. This whole thing is based on Your Day from Preludes by Dave Malloy. It's good. You all should listen to it.   
> 2\. That being said, it's not something Dave Malloy related without a W&P reference.   
> 3\. For anyone reading To Strengthen Ones Hand, that should hopefully be finished within the next few weeks. I've somehow ended up writing some criminal minds thing about ghosts (long story, lots of research, also my house is haunted) and I'm not sure if I'm going to finish working on the first part of that or not, but regardless I want it all done by the time school starts.   
> 4\. Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
